Paso Doble
by justrumbelledearie
Summary: Rumplestiltskin collects a payment from Princess Aurora's father. Joining him at Aurora's sixteenth birthday celebration-cum-farewell party is his comely caretaker, Belle. While Rumple prepares the spindle, Belle finds herself the object of the Mad Hatter's attentions. The Dark One prefers not to share his most cherished acquisition. Master and maid share a dance.
1. Chapter 1

"Is there anything else you would like?"

Belle pauses, waiting for his answer. She is clearing away the china and silver from the dining room table.

Rumplestiltskin is endlessly, surreptitiously touched that she has never pointed out the obvious: that he can conjure absolutely anything he desires. That the only plausible reason he has for requesting more straw or his leather gloves or a tumbler of whiskey after dinner is that he desires her company and an excuse for conversation.

They had spent the dinner hour discussing history, one of Belle's pet topics.

Between bites of roasted capon and hot, buttered rolls, Rumplestiltskin had added detail and texture to the origins of the Great Ogre War. She had delighted at the way his sing-song voice brought to life the battles and alliances that often fell flat on the pages of her history books. He had delighted at the way she had hung on to his every word, the way she had absolutely _lit up_ when he reached the bit about his walking onto the battlefield and sending the child-soldiers home to their parents.

"Nothing else," is his reply, and she extinguishes the candlelight with soft puffs of air. Strictly speaking, this is not true. Strictly speaking, he would like _her_, gripping the headboard of his mahogany bed every night and also at daybreak.

But now his sweet-tempered, irritatingly _innocent_ maid is on her way downstairs to the Dark Castle's cavernous kitchen to wash their dishes. The content of his thoughts is as foreign to her as the realms outside the Marchlands.

Rumplestiltskin thrums his fingertips upon the wooden tabletop.

A short while later, he is waiting in the dim hallway outside the kitchen, listening to the sounds of splashing water and clinking china. He feels all at once shy and ill at ease.

"I'll be going out on an errand this evening," he calls to her, hanging back in the shadows. _Gods_, since when does he tell her of his comings and goings? He is becoming a doddering old fool with this sprig of a girl living under his roof.

"Oh?" Rumplestiltskin hears the disappointment in this little sigh and savors it. Tucks it away for when he is in his lonely bed, thinking of her.

"Must you leave right away? I had planned a surprise." Belle wipes her wet, sudsy hands on her apron, then lifts the domed lid from a serving platter, proudly revealing a rather misshapen mulberry-peach tart. "You mentioned this-" She catches sight of him in the doorway.

"Rumple! You look so elegant! Where are you off to?" Belle beams while admiring his lace cravat, gleaming boots, and ornate suit of clothes. His shoulder-length hair, usually falling forward into his eyes in a wild tangle, is caught back in a queue.

"There is a payment I must collect tonight at King Stefan's court. They are hosting a ball-a birthday celebration, of sorts, for their daughter, and they are decent people, so…" He trails off, shrugging.

"May I come?" She removes her wet apron, looking hopeful.

"Belle-the payment I must collect-it is King Stefan's daughter."

She is repulsed: "His daughter? I don't understand-"

"The princess was cursed at birth. The royal family was foolish and snubbed an ill-tempered sorceress. As retribution, this sorceress cursed the princess to death on her sixteenth birthday. The family bargained with me for a curtailment of the curse-instead of death, she will prick her finger upon a spindle on the eve of her sixteenth birthday."

"And what happens after the spindle, Rumple?"

"She will be entrapped by the Sleeping Curse for ten years, after which she will be awakened by True Love's kiss." His expressive, trilling voice makes a mockery of "True Love's kiss," obviously finding the notion singularly distasteful.

"But-why didn't you simply negate the curse?"

"Magic is...slippery, dearie. This was the best I could offer. The best diminution their payment could buy." He watches her smooth brow furrow and her teeth worry her lower lip. She is parsing his language. She is not a stupid girl. He tries again: "Belle, though I am an expected guest tonight, I am not a welcome one. You would not enjoy yourself amidst a sea of furious faces."

She considers. "Rumple, if there is to be an angry crowd, all the more reason to take me along. It can't be pleasant, to be hated. Let me go with you. Then, at least, you will see the face of one who cares for you." While talking, she has closed the distance between them. He stands in the gloom of the hallway, she in the firelight that warms the kitchen.

_Cares for him? Gods-_

"As you wish," he relents, when she places an entreating hand upon his shirtsleeve. It is a struggle to keep his voice cool and even. "But I don't have forever to wait on your toilette, love. I may not be welcome, but I am expected…"

"Then select for me!" Belle is all at once aglow at the prospect of leaving the Dark Castle for an evening, even on an errand such as this. "Whatever sort of gown you like, Rumple, in your favorite color." She awaits his magic, smiling up at him.

He feels strangely ill at ease, casting this spell. She trusts him overmuch, to conjure away her clothing and replace it with whatever suits his fancy. Still, midnight is approaching.

Rumplestiltskin draws a deep breath, then grazes the outline of her arms with his fingertips, and forthwith Belle stands before him in a shimmering cream gown, embroidered with golden thread. It is similar to the dress she wore when she first entered his home, sloping quite low off her shoulders, but is far more ornate. Her hair, in it's lovely half-twist, he leaves untouched. It's perfect as it is.

"Magnificent, Rumple!" she praises, and he bows low, then offers an arm, courtly to the point of facetiousness. They walk in silence through the dark hallways, across the flagstone floor (which she scrubbed on her hands and knees only this morning), and out into a clear, moonlit night.

A carriage waits, such an enchanting gesture, and he is rewarded with another radiant smile.

"My lady." He hands her up, secretly reveling in her unconcealed delight. Belle promptly opens both of the carriage windows, allowing the chill night air to spill into the shadowy compartment. "Sit beside me. We'll share the lap blanket," she offers as he climbs up after her. It isn't wise, but sometimes he grows tired of being wise. Rumplestiltskin allows his maid to cover his lap with a fur-lined quilt, and then, with a flick of his wrist, they are off to the ball.

)-,-'-

Though his kingdom is only middling prosperous, King Stefan has spared no expense.

The king is determined that all of Princess Aurora's dreams be filled with the sweetness of this one, shimmering evening. Footmen line the castle steps, each holding aloft the royal crest on a silk banner. Candles flicker within glass orbs on every available surface, and already Belle can hear strains of music spilling from the open ballroom windows.

She doesn't know if the journey to King Stefan's palace was truly an hour in length or if Rumplestiltskin simply willed them here when he grew tired of the carriage. No matter-tonight there will be music and conversation and dancing-and possibly she will find a way to help the poor princess.

As Belle begins to lift the blanket from their laps, Rumplestiltskin stills her hand. "I can spare you but a short while to enjoy the party, my dear. Once I make myself known-" he gestures to his face, his body. "-the celebration will end rather abruptly. How would you best like _me_ to appear? How shall I disguise myself? Would you like to dance with Gaston this evening? I certainly do not want to disappoint." His tone is mocking, but his eyes are anxious. He truly wishes to please her.

"If it's my choice entirely, Rumple, then appear as you were, before your powers. Show me what you looked like when you were simply a father and a husband. Show me yourself as an ordinary man."

He draws in his breath sharply. This is a discomfiting request, but not an entirely unpleasant one. It is as if she has requested that he remove all his clothing and stand before her naked.

He remembers dark decades of his lonely, interminable life when he dealt with ambitious, experienced women for sex. Under the terms of these degrading deals, he would appear to them as whomever they chose-a former lover, a character from a romantic novel, whatever would please them best. Of course, none of these women turned down his offer to conceal himself. The glamoured sex had been...enthusiastic (the level of their enthusiasm was related to the level of their ambition), but he would have exchanged it in a heartbeat for his clumsy fumblings with Milah during the early months of their marriage. At least then he had believed he was wanted for himself.

"Surely there is some hero from one of your books that sets your heart aflutter? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Belle." He can tell by her set little smile that she has not been diverted by his teasing.

"I came to be with you. If I cannot have you as you are, I'll take you as you were." They stare at each other for a beat.

"As you wish." He hands her down from the carriage. The man who steps out behind her has the same slim build, the same sharp nose and wickedly arched eyebrows, but his skin is pale, and his eyes are a deep, honeyed brown. He offers her his arm, avoiding her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

They climb the steps to the palace slowly, Belle's eyes never leaving his face.

At last, they reach the entry hall. Its soaring ceiling is awash in light from candles flickering within iron chandeliers. Dancers linger in little groups, drinking in the fresh air. Rumplestiltskin turns and hesitantly meets her wondering stare, hoping that his careworn human face does not displease her.

And so help him-no woman has _ever_ looked at him as she does now. Not even his wife when she pledged her troth on their wedding day. Belle is captivated and seems to have forgotten how to draw breath. She stares and stares as if nothing here exists for her except him, as if she is intent upon memorizing every detail of his homely face.

"Rumple," she breathes, and her right hand comes up to rest against his cheek. "You are _beautiful_." He snorts and jerks out of reach at this because _God knows_ 'beautiful' is the _last_ word anyone could use to describe him. Even in his human form, he was never anything to look at. He was an underfed orphan who grew to be a slight, limping man with irregular features creased by worry. And yet Belle stares at him as if he were _worth something_. As if he is beloved.

"Dance with me?" She steps forward as he steps back, holding out an entreating hand, and he realizes that this evening was a wretched mistake. This-the soft look in her eyes, the way her tongue darts out to moisten her lips-this is _dangerous_.

"A sudden business matter just came to my attention, dearie. I trust you know how to enjoy yourself at a ball. I'll summon you when it's time for us to leave." He nearly stumbles over a small table piled high with nosegays in his haste to lose himself in the crowd.

Belle is disappointed, but she is also determined to savor this little adventure. She enters the grand ballroom, oblivious to the admiring looks and whispers her entrance inspires. There is an exquisite banquet laid out on the far side of the room. All of the princess's favorite items are presented with great artistry: sugared fruits, chocolate truffles, finger sandwiches, and frosted teacakes. Belle makes her way over to the food, thinking of her humble fruit tart on its platter at home.

As she selects a truffle, she senses someone at her shoulder. "Champaign?" the gentleman offers as she turns round. "It's said to be an excellent accompaniment to chocolate, though I prefer the teacakes, myself."

He stands closer than social convention permits between strangers. His pupils are dilated and his eyes skitter over the room, giving him the appearance of an opium fiend searching for his next fix. Belle is reminded of the desperate souls who returned home to the Marchlands after serving on the front in the Third Ogre War. These men and women had seen suffering and cruelty that the human soul was not meant to ingest. They were scarred in body and spirit, haunted by dreams, always on alert for danger, even when no danger existed. This gentleman appears similarly broken, but not dangerous.

"I thank you," Belle replies, accepting the champaign, and she drops a curtsy. The stranger breaks into a wide grin that does not reach his blue eyes. "Jefferson," he offers, bobbing a quick bow. He claps his hands together, considering her. "I haven't seen you before. Where are you from?"

"I am the daughter of Sir Maurice, of the Marchlands. My name is Belle."

"Mmm. I guessed correctly, then. Dance?" Jefferson raises his eyebrows and offers the crook of his elbow. Belle glances around the room, but sees no sign of Rumplestiltskin. "My champaign..." she begins, but Jefferson takes the flute from her hand and drinks it down in one swift swallow. Next, he takes the little chocolate from her plate and tosses it into his mouth. "Ready, then? Off we go..."

He guides her onto the dance floor where dancers await the start of the next waltz. They turn to face each other, and Belle is struck by how impossibly blue his darting eyes are. They are the same shade as her own. The music begins, and Jefferson presses a hot hand to her lower back, guiding her in the steps.

"You aren't here alone," he informs her. They twirl round and round. "You are indentured to...an associate of mine." They step closely together, sometimes slow, sometimes quick.

"You know my...companion?"

"We have have had deals together in the past." Another smile crosses his face that does not reach his eyes. "He's here on a deal tonight, isn't he?"

Belle feels suddenly ill at ease. She cranes her neck, looking for Rumplestiltskin. The room is spinning and spinning.

"Tell him something for me. The king and queen desire to change the terms of the original deal. If he refuses, they will give me a pretty payment to spirit the princess off to Wonderland before she can touch the spindle."

Belle has at last caught a glimpse of Rumplestiltskin. He is dancing with Princess Aurora, who is holding her chin at a high, brave angle, though her eyes are red-rimmed and her hands appear to be shaking against his shoulders. They are not far away, and Belle can make out some of their conversation.

The princess is asking if the Sleeping Curse will be painful. If she will be aware of time passing. Belle cannot hear Rumplestiltskin's reply.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks Jefferson. They are nose to nose as they spin. He is staring at her most intently. "Why not simply spirit her away to Wonderland this very moment and collect your payment?"

His blue eyes darken. "I _hate_ Wonderland. I want you to convince him agree to the new terms. I've never known him to have a consort, so you must be a singular woman. Find a way, and I will repay you someday."

The music ends, and Jefferson bows low, brushing his lips across her fingertips, then backs away into the crowd.

Belle feels a hand grip her wrist. "What did he want?" Rumplestiltskin hisses. His skin is once again an unearthly gold, and his angry, flashing eyes are amber. Gone are his courtly clothes. He wears the spiky dragonhide jacket and high, laced boots that he wore when he first bargained for her. He is fuming, though she cannot guess why. No matter-she knows how to gentle him.

The next song begins, and Belle steps into his arms, bringing one hand up to the back of his neck and the other to his rigid shoulder. "Dance with me?" she asks again. Her eyes have the same soft look from earlier this evening. He wraps his taloned hand around her slender waist, and they begin to dance.

"He wants you to agree to modify the deal. He said if you do not accept the king and queen's new terms, he will take Princess Aurora away with him to Wonderland."

He laughs a hard little laugh. "She'll be dead here or dead in Wonderland, it makes no difference-the fools." They step together, and Belle leans close, her fingers stroking the back of his neck, soothing his bad temper. When he speaks next, his voice is less hard: "Yes, I was already told about the modification the family desires. They wish-the entire royal court wishes-to prick their fingers as well. They want to sleep with the princess and wake with the princess." He is baffled, and she is touched.

"Would it work, Rumple? Did you agree?" He fingers play lightly across his shoulder.

"Yes, it would work. If they wish to curse themselves, they're welcome to do so. My spindle is ready." They whirl round and round. He cannot take his eyes from her face.

"Why did you deal for me?" Her voice is so quiet he thinks he may have imagined the question. But then she clarifies: "I could have been dreadful. A bore. Mean-spirited. Why did you deal for me, not knowing anything about me?" They have stopped dancing, but remain pressed together, swaying slightly. Her eyes flicker down to his lips.

"There are two prophesies." His forehead leans so low that it is almost touching hers. He feels her warm breath upon his face. "One: that a young boy will be my undoing. Two: that a girl will save me. I am meant to recognize her by her courage and sacrifice...and by her clothing. 'She will be clothed in sunlight.' So when I saw you...I hoped."

Belle smiles at the improbable scenario. Her-saving the most powerful sorcerer in the kingdom. "And what _else_ do you see of our future, Rumple?"

"You will save me, but...you will also leave me."

All at once, Belle realizes that the music has ended. The other dancers have circled round them, looking fearful. "Almost midnight," Rumplestiltskin tells her. "This cannot wait." He presents the cursed spindle with a flourish, and walks toward the pale princess and her parents. "Who's first, then?"

)-,-'-

When Rumplestiltskin descends the castle steps with Belle on his arm, the castle is dark and quiet. The footmen are slumped along the steps, their silk banners propped against their shoulders, awaiting the prince who will free them in ten years time. The carriage waits.

Underneath the lap blanket, Belle's hand seeks his. She twines their fingers together.

"I won't leave you, Rumple," she promises.

"Everyone leaves," he tells her sadly, but he does not withdraw his hand.

The carriage ride home lasts for hours.


End file.
